Archive for the Social Studies Category

Not my chair, not my problem: New Blog

Posted in Social Studies on August 3, 2009 by polarbearface

I went ahead a did us all a favor and got a real site. Not a fake one. A real one. It will be updated soon, but here it is:

Thanks everyone who pays attention to this boring stuff!!!



Periscoping into Your Face

Posted in Social Studies on February 28, 2009 by polarbearface

Sometimes it’s a form of love just to talk to somebody that you have nothing in common with and still be fascinated by their presence. ” – David Byrne


I’m drinking a beer right now, it’s 5:30 in the afternoon on a Saturday, the wind’s blowin’ hard as all the devil’s little whores outside, and I woke up on both sides of the bed… I am not a fan of speaking in cryptic messages and working my abs out on tacos and beers for several hours on hand. But I am a fan of working my magic-staying alive powers. Furthermore, the beer I’m already done with, is a  Lonestar, and it says a lot about my financial status as a student that can’t seem to move his calorie intake past the +/- 5 lb. ratio. “If only I had been beaten severely as a child, and had had the will to work out all major muscle groups vigorously in hopes of defeating my inner demons…” I say to myself most mornings these days. FUCK demons. I wanna eat.


I live my life like I can’t die.  And it works.


The above is a curiously dangerous idea. But it does work. If you live your life like you’re an invincible being from another galaxy (but still under went differential reproductive process), you’ll eventually come to the conclusion that living is just as easy fine as dying. And all the stuff in between is based on 1 prime-time thing: Fuckin’. If only we had a button to which we could all just get a fuck in during our busy, mega-worried lives. I’m fairly sure, were this button to exist, we could most certainly solve the over-population problem. And war. But probably not a zombie attack.


I wasn’t a sex symbol, I was a sex zombie. ” – Veronica Lake


You know, more than anything, I would love to live through a zombie attack. I think that this sort of thing is needed in many people’s lives. Especially those who have recently suffered/surrendered to the financial DOWNTURN/depression. What could help people feel good about themselves? Did someone say, Zombie Attack? More importantly, if this happened, A) population density would drastically change for the better; B) You can finally have the chance to be a real hero/oine; C) With all of the people gone, you’re going to have much more time to read the latest books. Let’s be honest, we’re all secretly waiting for this…



The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. ” – Robert Frost


Where I live, it’s dinner time.


RIP January 2009

Posted in Social Studies on January 28, 2009 by polarbearface

“Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.”

– Amelia Burr

For me to say that this month has been anything but tragic and untimely, would be to let go of the initial kernel that keeps me on the path-of-living. And while there have been so many sentences this month that have started off as “W..why…”, I think we forget that it’s really not up for questioning. It. Is. What. It. Is. 
“Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.”
– W. Somerset Maugham
There are many forms of finding death…the worst of course, being a text message. Which in this month, I’ve received, along with an email, and the phone call. And in my midnight pensamientos, I’ve discerned that indeed, the text message death-alert, is the worst among the three. Nonetheless, all forms are ghostly reminders of mortality; and so whenever I get a call from a friend I’ve not spoken with in a while, it’s precisely the first thing I’ve found myself asking, “Hi! It’s so good to hear from you! Hey um…real fast, has anyone we known, died?” It’s a quick and effective question, and gets all of the ghastly pretense out of the way. Afterwards, the call allows you both to catch up, converse, talk about ‘things living’. Etc.
“Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children and the younger generation.  For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.”
– Albert Einstein
There’s something to be said about staying alive 🙂 I for one completely believe I would and should for all intensive purposes (bike accidents, concussions, drugs, car accidents, gunfire, living in the heart of Bushwick, motorcycle riding, walking down the street, etc), be turning in my earthen grave. Like many folks I’ve had the pleasure to meet along my journeys, I’ve learned that Living is truly as good as it gets. Even when it’s terrible and you want to rip your little heart out, or you want to just (my favorite) “disappear”; even if you secretly desire the rest of the world to say, “My god, why is s/he gone, why!?!” Living is as good as it’s going to get. Be lucky that you’re still here, pumping your ruby-reds along with the rest of us scientific experiments. The weary, the brave: STICK IT OUT. Most of all, Zydeco musicians.
“We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future.  It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.”
– Marcel Proust
If I ever have the opportunity to experience death, I will have always wondered why, it had to be right then, that I had to die. Why not say, now, why not in 2 days, why not ever, like some of earth’s creatures? These are the questions that never cross the mind of a dead person (for obvious reasons), but also because of the time invested in one word: PAPERWORK. For if death is like life in any way — it would be this way. There will be shit loads of paperwork to fill out, meetings with counselors, meetings with other dead folk, FUCKING MEETINGS PERIOD. There will be things like “waiting lines” I mean seriously, that may even be the most interesting part when you’re first dead. You’d be standing in line, looking at everyone else, everyone else looking at you, maybe some of them are happy, maybe some of them are sad — you’re all dead. And that’s something to be proud about. (If you ever had the opportunity to see “Beetle Juice” at an early age, this will make complete and logical sense to you.)

“People living deeply have no fear of death.”  
– Anaïs Nin, Diary, 1967
In the above quote, I completely agree. Not only was Anaïs a very romantic and highly erotic and incredibly sexy woman…she’s damn right. Live Deeply. Do it! Go, and live, your life. Live it like no one has ever lived life before, and you’re the first person who can. And if you die while living your life deeply, and passionately, then you have done everything right. In the words of my ecology professor, “There is still a lot of beauty in this world, go out, enjoy it, while it’s still here.”  

This post is dedicated to the following people I’ve known closely, and through friends: Kurt (I wish I had your last name), Scott Shaeffer, Colleen Chandler, and the really cool guy from Telfon Tel Aviv, Charlie Cooper. May you all have less paperwork to do in your new life. You’re a bastard Death, for pulling this shit in the beginning of  a new year…but hopefully this will be the last we hear from you for a while. 


Blood & Beer, Respectively

Posted in Social Studies on October 22, 2008 by polarbearface

After getting out of class today, I stumbled upon a huge, tie-dye looking turd of a bus, and thought, “Fuckin’ A, a blood drive… Count ME IN!” While I realized that perhaps this may not be a good time to give blood (errands to be run, things to do, fix friend’s car up, etc. etc.); I went anyway.

Looking for an entrance I saw this hapless blue tarp, with a little puffy college kid underneath it, her cadaverous and ashen complexion reminding me of every reason not to donate blood. I think she was albino, and smelled like a pound of sun lotion. Nonetheless, I inquired, “Is this the blood drive bus?” She nodded, with this deviant, primitive grin akin to a demonic cave child, and then pointed to the left, “Gotta go up them steps, mister Cunningham.” What is this, 19th century London? And how did she know my name was Cunningham? To my left, I saw the door, narrow stairway and all. I turned back to the delinquent in front of me and slapped her in the face, “Whore”, as I went on my way.

For the purposes of confidentiality, I will call Charles Witherson III, Alfred Miers.

So guess what? He happened to a professional gay man, that spent his hours within this air-conditioned bus, taking the life from young men such as myself. While I pondered his absurd and hyper-feminine vocal chords, he pushed the needle into my arm, and I felt no pain. He was, for lack of a better word, wonderful at this. And this is why I thought he must be a dangerous man.  But as he was trying to tell me something, important, I believe, I paid zero attention. And instead, watched the warm red tube running out of my arm completely absorbed, and fascinated.

Suddenly, I looked up, and realized, he was just taking a bunch of bottles of my blood that would serve as a keepsake of our encounter, and I was stunned and strangely, flattered, that he cared so much about us. I looked away as I blushed intensely, looking at my dapper reflection in the window. Don’t be a fool… he’ll never love you the way you are… My inner wonderings were beginning to take over, as I nearly passed out from the lack of oxygen in my brain.

As the time passed, I felt taken advantage of. I felt, threatened and alone, like every Radiohead song. Nothing to keep me company but the indomitable sense of being that I shared with this lone hanging, little bag of DNA. How, cute… I commented within my solitude. Where was my guitar? What is Thom Yorke doing tonight, and why don’t I have his number anymore? Oh, of course…absinthe

The warm tubes spiraling down my arms felt like a strange sneaky little animal, one that was also a part of me — one that would keep me company for as long as I needed, until I saw the white light even. The gay man that took my blood, was looking at me now… changing his apron to a pink one with frills and little embroidered pictures of colorful children across the front, all holding hands, and rejoicing in his homosexuality. From across the bus, his teeth, perfectly white, constantly checking his dark, perfect hair in the mirror, he reminded me of someone I once knew…

But he was…no longer with us…

Another interesting point that I’d like to touch upon was the fact that all blood donation facilities were in cahoots with the same linoleum tile-floor makers. I know, that this was at heart a selfish observation, and I don’t listen to Cat Power at night, but, someone had to mention it. Someone has to stand up for the proletariat. Someone has to give blood and notice this utterly pointless shit.

In the end, I ate a bag of shitty cookies, and had some orange juice, which are both part 1 of the only real reason I care about giving blood. Seriously. If it weren’t for the excuse of eating trashy food, the feelings of loss-of-blood-syndrome, and the sensitivity of Alfred, then I seriously doubt anyone would be interested in giving their precious, god-soaked blood to someone not as important as they. Part 2 of my selfish reasoning, is obviously to follow, but below are some of the reasons people give blood. Link provided here.

Giving blood is important, but which of these profiles fit you?

Part 2: Beer.

Moreover, one of my favorite things to do in life is to not listen to people that are smarter, wiser, and more likely to succeed in life. Which is why when Alfred told me not to drink beer, I decided that I should ultimately, drink an entire 4 pack of my favorite beer on planet earth, Boddingtons, Pub Ale. I can’t even believe I am writing this now because according to Alfred, I should be on a ghostly gurney headed to the city morgue. But seriously… how can anyone turn down the silky sunshine yellow and bold blue sheen (or black, blue or black, which is it!? it’s a surprise!) of the can’s quality design?

I answer, “Not I, sir. Not I.”


Posted in Social Studies on October 20, 2008 by polarbearface

“Papi, why you hurt mi like dat?”

It’s been a while, a long, while, full of long, and interesting events that I can’t believe I’m about to divulge. For starters, I worked on my buddy’s truck the other day, just helpin’ a brother out. Changing some oil, etc. etc. Well, there’s this weird thing that happened when I was reading the manual to his car. I just forgot to read it. And so, in my stupidity, and in that doltish innocence that takes over as did when I was a small child helping out my dear father with his car maintenance,… eh, I sort of drained his tranmission dry of its red, globby fluid. Gasp. And then, I said, “Fuck.”


I’ve been in university for the last two months, and all I have to say is this: “Oh, the joy.” Of homework. Being a grown adult and having homework. Why didn’t I just finish this goddam undergrad when I was 21? Oh… that’s right, I was too busy working and reading Robert Jordan’s inescapable Wheel of Time series. If you’ve never been into fantasy, or have a serious problem with imagination, then this series is plainly not for you. If you want to escape the turmoil of a young life gone awry, have no need to drink heavily at the same bar, need some QT&RNR, or want to feel like you can unlock the power of the true Source (WOT reference, you’ll get it when you read it) within you, then go to your local bookstore, and pick up the first of this behemoth series, The Eye of the World. You will not be disappointed, and you very well might lose any and all of the inner agitations concerning the direction of your life.

“Drink and Ride 2008”

In other news, ever since I got a motorcycle, I haven’t really been riding my bicycle. Which I might add is a lovely number (fixed gear, sunshine yellow, easy to ride, easy to carry, easy to look at…. hard as shit to ride up hill for 6 months straight). Bah — I can get around a lot easier with this 2-wheeled motorized driving contraption. And there’s something to be said about going 93 miles an hour down a large stretch of melting pavement. And those words are: “Don’t Die.” The are simultaneously the same words that keep running through my head, every time I get on the damn thing; jaw clenched, my being in a practically horizontal position, eyes completely focused, hearing nothing but the booming wind and hammering clout of steel pistons. Manly madness… and all the while, my bikes screams to me, Yes! No more bicycle riding 39 miles a day in the heat of a hot Texan day. However, I can also hear the thoughts of my fellow man-pears, “Douche with a motorcycle, a loud, blatantly obvious metaphor for his lacking manhood, and predilections of self-importance. God. Damn I wish I had one…”


This week promises to be interesting and quite the upper because of this quality freelance job I’ve been working on since the dawn of my Austinite rebirth. Working for the man, has never been this much fun. But because I am constantly online, investing in my vehicular ineptitude, practicing my youtube watching, and studying for 5 hours out of the day, I’ve just not had it in me to write…and I owe my dear imprisoned cousin about 5 past due letters.


Posted in Social Studies on August 27, 2008 by polarbearface

FUCK YOU AUSTIN: No ID, No Hand jobs.
That’s the rule.

In the last week, I’ve almost been hit by 4 different jackass assjackles. Why? Well, since the summer let up, the massive university that consumes Austin Texas, just became re-activated. Like a smelly switch in the dark, thousands of dick sticks are waiting for free handouts, beer, booze, and candid, yet tormenting nights full of Dave Matthews make out sessions.

As the big white trucks passes me blaring the hit song from 1998, “Satellite”, I am trying day and night, to stay alive on the road, while these bizarro-people maneauver the streets in their impossibly huge all-terrain vehicles. HOWEVER To be fair, they have some pretty interesting rides. And I do commend them for their efforts:

Moreover: there’s nothing wrong w/owning a large cock truck as long as you signal before turning or running over motorcyclists.

Okay Alright, I’ve said my peace. Hopefully I don’t die before I become famous. Because that would be rather counter-productive to my plans of having super children of whom will be trained to ride iron motor horses, own engraved six-shooters with the names of their lovely wives, and essentially reinvent the west, just as their dear father would have wanted; moving on…


Word of advice for anyone trying to work 3 jobs simultaneously: Do Not Attept: Unless you are absolutely willing to suffer the consequences.

Yes, it’s true, every day is full of work, work, and then working on the bottle. It’s only temporary, but every day I feel a little more like my father, sans confusing boy-children with weird prepubescent habits. When I’m not working on the other jobs, I’m working on the real day job: being a musical genius. It’s not often that I will admit such lies, but I think our band’s music has a good chance; more on that some other time:

This piece of art can be found in the men’s
bathroom facilities at the Hole in the Wall, in Austin, TX.

Alright…alright —- If you do attempt to have serious multi-functional work schedules, make sure that you have proper time management skills, and by that I mean, it is absolutely beyond important to make time for the intake of mind-altering substances, on a monthly if not bi-weekly basis. It is scientifically proven that by doing this, you in turn help configure your brain to the massive amount of information going in and out, by which you then begin to create a world of interesting ups and downs, that will surely help any struggling artist overcome his/her fear of being an actual artist in one of the worst economies of our time. Being said, I have a green and red date in 2 weeks (serious inquiries only).


It’s Like, You know, a Social Thing

Posted in Social Studies on June 24, 2008 by polarbearface

Sleep it off Caruso. Sleep it off.

David, Ally and I are both disappointed in you.

Many people over the times have been confused by things they do not readily understand. When you read Proust, Nabokov, Dickens, or I don’t know, Charlotte Brontë on a cool, summer day, you might have to read through it a bit slower than say, People Magazine. Unfortunately, this is our culture. For instance, when you read Lolita, for the first time, it’s perhaps unlikely that you will completely understand ALL of the impressive literary references. These days, things have changed. And although I’m certainly no Mozart of the English language, I do know talent whence my eyes hath feast upon it. It is at this point, I would like to request a thought towards the best writers in our digital age, those of the Interwebs. (Everyone that’s anyone uses, this very specific and boring terminology.) Many people use the Internet for writing. I am one of them. And like you, who surely writes as you do breathe the fine air of this planet, I find it enchanting to throw in several of the slightest literary and newsworthy references from time to time. Or as the Franch would say, la recherche du temps en temps.

Place of Where They Make You Better

Moving on, towards the individual’s instinct to write, draw, scribble, and doodle, dare I say, is it possible, that our visual cortex has or is being reformatted to write better through the screen of a computer, rather than that of the pencil and paper? Is this one single step forward in our evolution! Are we being entirely abused by the ease of typing, word font, the fitting cliche terminology, etc. etc.? Why, I dare say we are. I wonder what human evolution has to say about this… Moreover, I wonder what Detective Caruso would say about this.

Explain this to me...

An interesting part about this blog is that after you read it, you will suddenly feel as though you’ve…done this, before. Or that you’ve, had a moment of strong coincidence… I assure you, it’s likely that this is because I’ve somehow tapped into your consciousness. Because I have an ability to see into people’s words, feel their presence, know what they’re thinking before they know I know, and how to adjust accordingly to their body temperature because that’s what I was taught… Or maybe I don’t have said, magical powers. It’s not like I’ve evolved any different from the next guy.


Papi, why u do dis to me?

You know, a lot of people have asked me this in the last 4 days: what is your blog about? Or, I love it. So, what’s it abo— Stop. Just stop. I’m going to ‘splain this to you right now. Clear this up. My blog, is about, being a 14 year old girl who just wants to fall in love all over again, and not with that ugly boy at summer camp. It’s about being a 23 year old boy, who just wants to write to no one, because he has everyone to talk to, and sing to, and be appreciated by, etc. etc.


What what, in da butt

It’s about being a 10 year old dog, plainly wondering what life is about, why his fur is falling out, why his eyes can’t see as well, and why his food tastes like cardboard. It’s about you. It’s about being together in this crazy world, together, you and me. The author and the audience. Your reaction, and my reaction to your reaction. It’s about us, and them. It’s about this:

I can’t stand how you eat. Like one of those goddam polar bears.
What’s it to you? You didn’t seem to mind when we were together.


So, just because I eat like a polar – I can’t even say it…that’s low. That’s below the belt.
It’s the truth. You’re a slob. Just look at Blinkie’s friend, hey you. Hey!
What’s your name?
“Blast Off.”
What? the fu-?
Your name Dude. Blast Off? Seriously?
“Yes, my mother was Three, Two One.”
“My father was Bomb’s Away.”

Oh my god, oh…wow. WOW.